


Scheduled Visits

by NosJokes



Series: To be Insane [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Red Hood: Lost Days, Under the Red Hood
Genre: Against all odds, Angst, Apparently that's an unpopular opinion, Bruce Wayne is Batman, Bruce Wayne's parents are dead, Cause apparently that hasn't be established, Damian Wayne is Robin, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Drama, Family Drama, Family Issues, Foster Family, Gen, In case none of you knew, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Mental Health Issues, Not to be confused with the Restaurant, Orphange, Orphans, Psychological, Stephanie Who?, Taliah Al Ghul is a Rapist, Therapy, Tim Drake is Red Robin, WE DON'T USE GUNS, Why do these tags exist?, anger issues, back story, be proud of ya boi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:28:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22233301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NosJokes/pseuds/NosJokes
Summary: Jason agrees to go to therapy and every visit, he discovers something new about himself and his true reason for being a hero.
Series: To be Insane [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1117776
Comments: 5
Kudos: 38





	Scheduled Visits

He looked at me straight in the eyes. “You made the right decision, Jason.”

He was talking about me agreeing to get a therapist. Apparently, it’s crazy to want to kill someone who murdered you once. It’s also crazy to want to kill others who wanted to kill other people for fun. I had yet to see why, but then again, I’m the one going to the nuthouse. “Hmm.”

“I know this was a hard thing to accept. It is for everyone. You’re a very strong person for--”

“Can we stop talking about it, please?”

From there, he stopped talking, and the rest of the car ride was silent, thankfully.

For some reason, he thought it’d be a good idea to toss me off smack in the middle of nowhere surrounded by trees and no cell phone service. I guess if I run into some serial killer as I inevitably will, I can’t say I could’ve called him. Not that I need to, but still. I’m grateful enough it finally sank in that the medical facilities in Gotham suck ass. I would be more grateful if he didn’t pick somewhere and hour away up north. It’s spring and it’s already snowing! Jesus, are we heading towards Detroit or Canada?

After some time, we made it. The hospital building reminded me of the generic 4 consecutive buildings in a project but chrome. We did the boring stuff. Going inside. Waiting for the doctor. Going into her office. Saying our goodbyes so the doctor and I could be left alone.

Her office was small and brown. Some walls had her kids on them and other walls had some decorations of sophisticated white people shit. I sat in a chair across from her, which I’ll admit was comfy, and she sat on a chair closest to her desk with a computer and more pictures of her children.

She looked exactly like you would expect: glasses, long tied up brown hair, stern gaze, in a dull-colored suit. Her hands held a notebook and paper while she did her best to smile at me. I didn’t return the gesture.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Todd. My name is Dr. Tiffani Baker and I’ll be working with you this evening.” Her voice was what you expect from a trademark therapist too. I don’t know how to describe it exactly. You know, _that_ voice, like uh...the female version of the narrator for those pill commercials. “I want you to know that I am bound by your rights to confidentiality. Anything that is said in this room will stay in this room unless I believe that information is a danger to anyone, yourself included, if kept a secret. Do you have any questions?”

“Nah,” I said flatly.

“Now, before we get started, I know you’re the Red Hood, previously known as Robin, and I know Bruce Wayne is Batman, so we don’t have to beat around the bush on the subject. ”

A part of me knew it was no use, but the majority of me was wired to play dumb in these situations. I chuckled as a reflex.“What do you mean--?”

“Don’t worry. Mr. Wayne told me.”

I was still on alert since Bruce wouldn’t give away his identity for any reason, but after a moment, I figured I got nobody worth hurting on my plate if they find out my secret identity. Technically I’m dead. Bruce definitely did, but he should have been more careful to begin with. “Alright, whatever.”

“Good.” She jotted down some notes before looking up at me again. “What would you like to be called, Mr. Todd?”

“Just Jason is fine.” God, Mr. Todd makes me sound like a muppet.

“Have you been diagnosed with anything before?”

“Nope.”

“Do you smoke or drink?”

“Both.”

“How often?”

“I smoke at least once a day and drink on special occasions.”

“Were you abused as a child?”

“By my real dad, yeah. He’d hit me a lot.”

“And your mom?”

“She was into a lot of drugs, so she didn’t do much around the house. Died of an overdose. My dad was murdered by Harvey Dent.”

“Did Mr. Wayne adopt you soon after?”

I cleared my throat. “No. I lived on the streets for a few years before he picked me up.”

“How’d you get by?”

“Stealing, selling drugs, fights, and if I was desperate enough, sex.”

“Wow.” She paused for a moment writing everything down I assumed. “That’s pretty badass for a kid.”

I wasn’t prepared for that reaction. Usually, people pity me when I admit that to someone if I ever do. “Thanks...?” 

“Alright.” She formed a bridge with all her fingers to hold her head up as she leaned on them. “So, what brings you here, Jason?”

I rolled my eyes. I wasn’t five minutes inside the damn place and they were already mocking me. “Because I’m Coo Coo for Cocoa Puffs. Same reason everyone else gets here.”

“Define Coo Coo for Cocoa Puffs for me.”

I sighed heavily. “I’m…I’m crazy…”

“Pardon?”

“I said I’m crazy.” The words made a lump in my throat that I couldn’t swallow.

“Why do you think you’re crazy?”

“ _I_ don’t! Everyone else does.”

“Who’s everyone else?”

“My foster father and my br…uhm. His sons and mentees.”

“You mean your brothers?”

“I’m not their brother.”

She took a moment to write in her book before she brought her attention back to me. “Describe your foster family for me if you may.”

I was hesitant to explain too much. She might know about me and Bruce, but she didn’t say she knew about the others. “Well, the oldest is Dick. He lives up to his name.”

While writing, she tried to hide a snicker by pretended something was in her throat. “Why is he a dick?”

“He thinks he’s so entitled to everything. And he always wants to go through something and have problems. He’s so annoying…”

“Hm.” Her pen scratched the paper quickly; I found myself mesmerized a little.

“Then there’s Tim. He’s the family kiss-ass. If Bruce or Dick told him to fall off a cliff he’d do it in a heartbeat.”

“Mm-hm. Take it you don’t like him either?”

“I mean, I don’t _hate_ him; he’s just annoying.”

“I see. Go on.”

“The youngest is Damian. This one’s not adopted but he acts like it. He’s a demon spawn.”

“Yeah, little brothers feel like that, don’t they?”

“No, I mean he’s an actual demon spawn. His grandfather is Ras’Al Ghul.”

At that, she looked up from her notebook with wide eyes. “Huh. Don’t know him.” Then she went back to writing. “Wanna elaborate?”

“He’s nothing special. He’s just this evil demon guy trying to live forever and take over the world or something. I don’t know too much about his deal. His daughter dated my dad for a bit though. Then she raped him and had Damian.”

“Oh. That’s horrible.” She sounded genuinely sorry about it. I forget how desensitized I am to this stuff compared to normal people. “I’m sorry that happened to him.”

“Me too.” I didn’t know what else to say to that.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Nah.” It wasn’t that big of a deal to me as it could be to Bruce. 99% of the time we just pretend it didn’t happen. “There’s nothing to say.”

"Is Damian annoying too?"

"Heh, definitely. He is the _epitome_ of a spoiled brat."

"If you could rate your brothers from least to most annoying, what would the order be?"

That was a tough question. I hate them equally so I didn't know how to rate them accordingly. Eventually, I decided which one I'd rather be stuck with if I was trapped in a room with them. "Tim, Dick, then Damian."

"Tim's your favorite?"

"The hell he is. He's just the least annoying."

She admired her writing before she beamed at me. “Pretty big family, huh?”

I scoffed. “You don’t know the _half_ of it, yet.”

“There’s more?”

“Those guys are all I know for sure got adopted. There are other people like Stephanie or Duke or Carrie or whoever the fuck else, but I don’t hang around the mansion too much to find out if he sealed the deal.”

“Are they also heroes?”

“No.”

She shrugged. “Well, I guess you can’t tell me even if they were. You want to talk about them too?”

“I honestly forgot the rest. Or I don't talk to them as much and got nothing to say. Between you and me, the old man’s an addict.”

“Can we talk about your father too?”

“He’s not my father.”

“Right. Foster father. Sorry.”

“It’s nothing special. He found me in the boonies while I was stealing some tires from the Batmobile.”

“You tried to steal from the _Batmobile?_ ”

“I didn’t know Batman was real at the time. I thought he was just some weirdo in a costume. Anyway, I get away with what I can, and he follows me home. Well, 'home' is being loose here. It was a place I could sleep in; an apartment in an abandoned building no one took down yet. He finds me and gives me a sphell about how it’s wrong to steal and stuff. He asked where my parents were and I told him they’re dead. So he takes me out for a ride and brings me to a school for orphans. But turns out it was an underground drug circle. Thankfully he found out somehow and got me out of there. Then he brought me to an actual orphanage to adopt me. Well, Bruce did, not Batman.”

“How was growing up in the Wayne Manor?”

“It was kind of weird at first. The house was _huge_ and he had a butler who did everything for me. I got to go to school, I didn’t have to worry about my next meal, I had a bed and I can take baths every day. He gave me a birthday party and showed me movies and he’d give me books to read.” I caught myself before I rambled too much. "It was pretty cool. I can thank him for a good childhood at least.

"And the weirdest thing was that there wasn't a catch. He’d just gave me this stuff because he wanted me to be happy. And I was. I was starting to feel guilty after a while. I wanted to do something to give back, but I had nothing to give.”

“And that’s when you decided to be the next Robin.”

“Yeah. I found his Batcave at some point. Figured out he was Batman the whole time. I told him I wanted to be the next Robin and stuff but I caught him at a bad time. The last Robin almost got shot to death and had to get fired for his safety. He’d flip hell over before he let that happen. I was stubborn as hell though. Eventually, I just put on the suit and went with him anyway even if he told me not to. He’d get pissed but after a while he’d just let it happen.”

“Did you play the role well?”

“Eh. I was a bit rowdy for his taste, but I thought I did pretty good. We went on with it for a few years. I got to meet the Justice League, who are all assholes, and I got to join a team of sidekicks my age. They were the Teen Titans I think. They were also assholes. I kind of hate the hero’s guild; they’re so friggin pretentious. I didn’t mind them too much as long as I was with Bruce though.”

“Sounds like you guys were pretty close back in the day.”

“Yeah….” We were, but thinking about how close we used to me made my stomach churn.

“What happened?”

“What had happened was, I did something _real_ stupid and died.”

“You _died?_ But you’re right here.”

“I’ll get to that in a sec. Anyway, you know about The Joker, right?”

“I know enough.” 

“He had it out for me for a long time. I guess cause he realized Robin getting hurt pisses Batman off. At some point, he wanted to go above and beyond. He lured me out to this abandoned warehouse with notes from my mom. Turns out she was alive this whole time. But also turns out she ratted me out for some drugs. I guess I should have known better, but she’s my mom you know? I didn’t want to lose her again. When I got there, he beat me to kingdom come with a crowbar then tied me down so I couldn’t escape. Then he exploded the warehouse he trapped me in and I died.

“Then Ras, that guy I was talking about earlier, brought me back to life with some pool thing. I think it’s called the Lizardless Pit or some shit. His daughter showed me how to fight until I was about in my twenties, then we had sex for some reason. I forgot why. Anyway, I escaped the League of Assassins—that’s their organization by the way—to go to Gotham. Became the Red Hood and tried to piss the old man off as much as possible.”

“Wow. A lot happened.”

“Yup.”

“Were you and Ras’Al Ghul’s daughter in a romantic relationship as she trained you?”

“No.”

“Was she molesting you while she trained you? Did you feel safe?”

“Yeah--No. I mean, she wasn’t molesting me and I did feel safe.”

“Were you attracted to her?”

“Not really, but I didn’t have a reason to say no, so— why are you so hung up on her anyway?”

“Earlier, you said she raped your father in the past. I want to make sure she didn’t do the same to you.”

“I mean, even if she did there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“I could have helped you cope with it. But if it was consensual, it’s fine.” She smiled again. “I imagine coming back to life must be a unique experience.”

“It happens more often than you’d think, actually.”

“Does it really?”

“Yeah. It happens at least once to a superhero I think.”

“Do they all come back the same way you did?”

“Nah. They have other connections or some deus ex machina bull shit. I was just a convoluted plan to not owe Batman a favor. Which backfired horribly.”

“That’s pretty interesting.” She crossed her legs while leaning closer to me. “Now I want to go back into something you mentioned earlier about why you’re here. You said you’re here because you’re crazy. What does being crazy mean for you?”

I rolled my eyes and exhaled. I answer the obvious before she gets to a tedious not-so-well-thought-out point of why I’m here and why I need to start getting my life together before I stay here forever. These doctor types are so predictable. “It means I’m a danger to others. If left alone I could hurt someone.”

“Really?” She raised an eyebrow. “Is that what you think?”

I was caught off guard, not expecting her to say that. “Yeah. Isn’t that what it means?”

She wrote a few notes on her clipboard and said, “Interesting,” before she stopped. “ _I_ wouldn’t say so personally, but if that’s your opinion…”

“It’s not an opinion. I hunt down these kinds of people almost every day. They’re always insane!”

Extending her bottom lip, she tilted her head one side at a time while looking to the sky. “Well, I’ll need the whole story before I can come to a conclusion like that. But you’re around them more than I am, so,” she shrugged, “I won’t call you a liar or anything. So is that why you’re here? You want to harm people?”

“Only the bad ones. People who hurt me or want to hurt others.”

“Hurt them how?”

“You know how villains do. Kill for the sake of killing, put people up for hostage for a ransom, just sick twisted stuff.”

“And because of that, you think you’re crazy?”

“No. But everyone else does.”

“Your foster family.”

“Yeah.”

“I know Batman hurts bad people too. What’s separating you from Batman?”

I paused for dramatic effect.“I kill people.”

She jotted that down in her notebook, or at least I assume she did. “Why do you kill people?”

“Cause his way isn’t working. Sure we beat them up and throw them in jail, but they’ll just break out and do it all again. They’re sick bastards who crave chaos, and they’re never going to change. If we want to truly end crime in Gotham, they’re going to have to die.”

“How many people did you kill?”

“Uh…” I thought back to all those drug dealers whose heads I put in duffel bags to send to their coworkers and couldn’t keep a solid count in my head. “A lot. Mostly drug dealers.”

“Do you think it’s working?”

“Chya,” I said with a laugh. It’s unbelievable how well my way is going compared to Bruce’s ‘all lives are precious’ bull shit. Only dumbasses and newbies try to sell drugs in Gotham these days, and they don’t make it far in their career.

“Have you served your time for those killings?”

“Yup. I was in Blackgate for a few years and got out early for good behavior, then I went to Arkham Asylum and got out early because I was sane.”

“Do you like killing people?”

“No.” _Why does everyone ask that?_ “I’d rather not. I do it because I have to and no one else will.”

“Do you want to stop killing people?”

“At some point, I don’t want to do this anymore, but there are still people out there who need a taste of their own medicine.”

She finished scribbling her last thought on that notebook of hers. From where I sat, she looked like she was getting really busy. She tapped her paper with her pen twice and looked up at me. “Is there anything you’d like me to help you with then?”

I shrugged. “Nah. Not really.”

“Welp, you sound fine to me. Want me to call your foster father to come pick you up?”

Eyes wide, mouth a thin line, I asked, “You serious?”

“About what?”

“Aren’t you gonna diagnose me or something? You don’t think anything’s wrong with me?”

She crossed her legs over another way, leaning back on her chair. “Can’t say I'm specialized in dealing with vigilantes, but considering the circumstances, I can't connect your killings to something mentally wrong with you that you or I want to fix. I dont agree with your method, but all I can do is advise you to stop. Its not my place to call you bad for it from what I'm hearing. Are you hearing voices or do you believe you’re God and entitled to kill whoever you deem evil?”

“No.”

“Are your killings due to an impulsive urge you’re just following through cause you can?”

“No.”

"And you want to keep doing this?"

"No but..."

“Then there's not much I can help you with.”

“You mean this is normal?”

“Contrary to popular belief, you don’t have to be crazy to kill someone. In fact, only 3% of violent crimes are commit by someone with a mental illness. I don’t agree with your way, but that doesn’t necessarily mean there’s something’s wrong with you, especially if we consider the circumstances for why you kill people.” The words coming out her mouth felt surreal like I just walked into a dream. “I can get a second opinion from a psychiatrist, but from my end, it doesn’t sound like I’m the help you need. Maybe group therapy or an anger management class will be best for your situation.” You’d think that would have made me fly off the walls with joy, but it didn’t. The thought of going back out there already made me queasy, the thought of facing Bruce, any of my friends, Tim especially, it terrified me to a point that made me sweat. “Is that okay with you?”

I tried to form the words as best as I could. I could feel what I wanted to say, but the words didn’t develop, a strange experience. “It’s just... I just think I’m…I, uh…”

She stood up straight, facing her body and eyes towards me.

I tried explaining what happened, maybe get the point across that way. “I…I almost killed my foster family…a few times.”

Her expression went softer, careful not to push any buttons she shouldn't. Was she pitying me? Was she concerned for me? I couldn’t look at her in the eyes to find out. They moved to the floor. “How?” She asked.

“I…I was...” The air was thick with her silence. The words I tried to say— ‘I shot them’ ‘I beat them’ —stayed in the back of my throat like a lump that refused to surface. “I heard about Tim and...”

She continued to stay silent.

“Tim just showed up out of nowhere, and Dick always treats me like an asshole no matter how nice I am and Bruce was never proud of me no matter what I try and they…” I thought back to when I first saw Tim with my own eyes, how small and weak he was, how easily replaceable I felt. I went back to that dark place, filled with rage and a thirst for blood, “I thought he cared about me, then Tim just...he was...” and ran my hand through my hair, clutched a handful, taking deep breaths to make it stop. “I don’t…I don’t want to do that again….”

“Do what?”

“...They all…they all could’ve died, I don’t….” I buried my head in my hands thinking of Tim’s face as tears streamed through his mask, just barely speaking any coherent pleas for me to stop with a gun stabbed inside his mouth. I pushed the thought away with a sigh. “I don’t want to do that anymore.”

“Do you mean kill?”

Even if I didn’t want to hurt them, I didn’t want to stop killing. I have to for the sake of Gotham. “...Yes.” I didn’t mean it, but at the same time, I did. I said it because it was the first answer on my mind.

She gave me a moment to calm down before she continued. “You’re not as talkative anymore.”

“I don’t know. It’s hard to talk about.”

“Before you were more than happy to admit your killings, but when talking about your foster family, you got reclusive. I know for both situations, you don’t like the person you’re trying to kill, so I’m wondering what’s the difference between your enemies and your family.”

“Ain’t it obvious? They didn’t deserve it like those scum did.”

“Was it obvious to you?”

I thought about that. Going back to those times, the only thing on my mind was that they were pissing me off. “I don’t know. I was just...so angry.”

“Do you kill because you’re angry?”

“Well yeah,” I said it like it was obvious—I’m sick of the drugs dealers targeting poor kids and I’m sick of villains hurting innocent lives because they can; it pisses me off and they deserve to die—but when I thought about it, it really sank in that I killed because I was angry. I was angry at Tim for being my replacement. I was angry at Bruce for moving on like I didn’t mean anything to him. I was angry at Dick for not trusting me to be a good Batman. They didn’t do anything murder-worthy per se, yet I wasn’t hesitant to kill them for it. “Yeah…now that you put it that way.”

“Are you ashamed of what you did?”

Ashamed felt like a good word. At the same time, I had too much pride to accept that word. “Not ashamed, more like...sorry.”

“Overall, you feel bad about what happened. You feel guilty.”

“Yes.”

“Are you scared you’re going to try to kill them again?”

“I tried a few times after…. We had this…I...” I sighed again. “Yes…”

She didn’t write down anything in her notebook this time. Instead, she looked at me with caring eyes waiting for me to add anything. After I didn’t for a minute or two, she said, “I think we should try to convert your anger into something positive instead of using it to motivate you to kill others. Does that sound like a good place to start?”

I nod my head, not in the mood to talk anymore.

* * *

We went over boring stuff like when am I available and how many times a week I want to visit. After about 20 minutes, I got the okay to leave.

Bruce was outside waiting in his car that had to remind everyone he was rich. He tried to put on a gray hoodie and hat to hide his Bruce Wayne identity like that was going to make up for the story behind him affording a Ferrari. I got into the passenger seat and we went through the awkward exchange of dialogue to show proof he actually gives a shit about my life.

“How was it?” He asked.

“Oh, had a huge break through. Cried like a little bitch,” I said while shoving myself inside and slamming the beside me. “By the way did you tell her—?”

“Yes. I told her our identities.”

I was more shocked to hear it from him. “Are you out of your mind? She could be dangerous!”

”I know. I understand the risks.” He looked at me straight in the eyes. “But this will let you get the most amount of this. I believe it’s worth it.”

I stared at him for one or two heartbeats then I looked to the front and shook my head. “Freaking idiot,” I said under my breath.


End file.
